


so lay me down

by cirrus (themorninglark)



Series: SASO 2017 [45]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Challenge: Sports Anime Shipping Olympics | SASO 2017, Drowning imagery, Gen, M/M, Red String of Fate, ghosamu, strangulation imagery, you can read incest into it if you so wish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 02:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11958312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/cirrus
Summary: When he thinks Osamu is not looking, Atsumu wraps his end of the thread like veins around his wrist, draws it in breath by breath.





	so lay me down

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SASO 2017 Bonus Round 6: Remixes | originally posted [here](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/24968.html?thread=15697544#cmt15697544) | remix of [this art](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/22341.html?thread=13324357#cmt13324357)

The water roars like static in his ears. _Here, here you are safe._

Osamu’s arms are trapped air around him, and Atsumu’s eyes are the first to fly open.

 

* * *

 

It only grows longer, and longer, that thread that binds them, until Atsumu finds that one day he can run all the way to the end of the pier, waist-deep into the sea, and turn to see Osamu’s fading figure recede out of sight. The waves are washing his footprints away. Unlike Atsumu, he never looks back.

“Do you have dreams?” he asks, one day, when they’re under a sky that looks like a black and white photograph. It will not rain, not yet. The storm is yet to come.

Osamu looks at him. His lips move, soundlessly. The wind is a jagged whisper at Atsumu’s cheek.

Atsumu smiles. “Yeah. I have that dream too.”

 

* * *

 

It’s terribly selfish of him, but because it’s Osamu, he does not need to admit it. Osamu already knows.

So Atsumu buries his deepest dream in his clenched fist when he sleeps, that red thread stretched taut across his life line. _How smooth, how unbroken,_ a priestess had told him when he was young. The silken rustle of her robes still echoes in the back of Atsumu’s mind. They had been red, too.

Osamu lurked in the shadows, refused to open his hand when she passed by.

“That’s rude, ‘Samu,” Atsumu hissed into his ear, breaking out into a helpless giggle after a moment, and Osamu only smiled like he knew something Atsumu didn’t.

Atsumu’s grown up with a blessing on his shoulder, and a blood promise in his palm. He has a dream to be _number 1_ , the _only_ one, and there is no space for two where he is going; he has a dream to bring Osamu there too, no matter what anyone else says. Even if that someone else is Osamu.

 

* * *

 

When he thinks Osamu is not looking, Atsumu wraps his end of the thread like veins around his wrist, draws it in breath by breath. Some days, it comes easy. Some days it cuts into his skin, etches a topography of casual cruelties in faint lines. _Look. This is where I locked you out of our room, in a childish temper. Look. This is where I pretended I couldn’t hear you crying._

Atsumu grits his teeth, hangs on tighter still and lets that old smirk find its way back to his face, for it is memories like these that make Osamu real, that make them a pair. Sometimes, it stings so much that he thinks he should let the line go slack, but he is afraid that if he does, he will never get it back again.

Then there are nights when Osamu is close enough to touch. He never says a word, merely looks Atsumu in the eye, watches as he winds that thread so lovingly around his neck, a ribboned fate that grows thinner, more worn out every day.

 

* * *

 

The water roars like static in his ears. _Here, here you are safe. Here, you can find your peace, your eternity—_

When the storm hits at last, Atsumu’s head is filled with only one thought: that he cannot be alone, he cannot do this alone, he was never selfless enough, never strong enough, never enough.

Osamu’s mouth is cold on the inside of Atsumu’s wrist as he lets go, lets himself fall. Shorn of that familiar embrace, Atsumu finds himself torn from the water, and opens his eyes to a broken thread dangling from his fingers.

 

* * *

 

All the words Osamu could never say are on Atsumu’s lips now, a parting kiss.

_Here, we were safe. But safety was never what you wanted. Go, ‘Tsumu. The world is waiting for you._

In Atsumu’s palm, his life line throbs.


End file.
